A Reluctant Fighter
by TiredRaven
Summary: Minerva McGonagall has fallen into shambles after the death of Albus Dumbledore. To make it worse is the knowledge that one of his best friends killed him, and the horrible feeling that everyone knows she's not as strong as once thought...
1. Chapter 1

Minerva is an extremely interesting character, one that I have always been incredibly fond of. With the horrible events of HBP, I could only imagine how lost and hopeless she felt. And, as per usual, my imagination flowed directly into my computer. So, welcome to the tragic world of Minerva McGonagall, the woman behind the tight bun and strict rules. Here is the Minerva McGonagall deeply saddened and troubled by the death of one of her closest friends and mentors, as well as the traitorous actions of another close friend.

Credit for making me post this goes to my lovely friend and open critic, MiriTheSpazz. But if you don't review, my dear, I might have to hex you. Same goes for the rest of you… read and review!

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There had never been a silent staff meeting. No matter how bad things got, no one at Hogwarts had ever lost hope. Between the students and Albus's smiling eyes, no one had ever even thought about losing hope. And yet here we were, sitting at our first staff meeting since the tragic death of the greatest Headmaster in the history of Hogwarts, and absolute silence engulfed the room. No one spoke, no one even moved. We all sat, looking at our hands intently, studying them as we never had before. We looked around the familiar meeting room as though it were the first time we had laid eyes on it. I desperately tried to ignore that they were all watching me at the head of the table, hoping I would find something helpful to say. Something filled with hope, something that would make them want to get out there and plan those lessons.

But I had lost hope.

Long ago, I had lost hope. He was my best friend. I had always loved him, I always would. I had promised him the year before that after his death I would honor his memory, and yet here I sat at the head of a table—his table—looking at my colleagues, the ones I knew, the ones that knew me, wanting so desperately to be able to say something meaningful, something hopeful, and all I could think about was how horribly I was going to fail.

I had never failed in my life, and I was going to fail at this. Minerva McGonagall was going to fail.

And that's when I did something no one—absolutely no one—expected. I looked at my friends, my colleagues, and I took off my hat. I threw it across the room, and I buried my face in my hands. I let myself be weak for the first time in a long time. I let myself cry.

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The room was still with silence that was becoming familiar. The only sound that ever echoed through this room was my hollow, desperate sobs, begging him over and over again to send some of his strength. I wanted his kind eyes, his twinkling, laughing eyes. I wanted his intelligence, I wanted his hope, I wanted his strength. I wanted anything that would help me be strong, that would help me fill his grand shoes.

But the more I wished, the worse I became at running the dreaded school. The more I wished; the more things crumbled beneath my feet; my tired, worn feet. The more I wished, the more my colleagues frowned. The more they frowned, the more restless the students grew. Restlessness lead to bad grades, bad grades led to trouble. I was getting angry letters from parents everyday, and I could say nothing but 'I'm sorry.' Over and over again I said sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I had never apologized in my life. Minerva McGonagall was always right!

My broken, wretched sobs rung through the room, ringing with the same amount of horrible, heartbroken sadness as they had once rung with wondrous joy. I listened to my sobs grow more and more like choking. I decided that I _was_ choking. I was choking on his memory, I was choking on his mind, I was choking on my sorrow, and I only wished I would stop choking, stop breathing, stop everything. I only wished the choking would end—I only wished I could stop fighting.

But Minerva McGonagall always had to be a bloody fighter.

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I remember when Severus started Hogwarts. I was not his biggest fan. He looked bad. I could practically smell the revulsion pouring out of his pale, greasy skin. He was sorted into Slytherin. I was hardly surprised. He was teased. Again, I was hardly surprised. The number of times I had to punish Gryffindor's for being horribly cruel to him did surprise me, only slightly, and only at first. As soon as I got to know James and Sirius, I was no longer surprised that they despised Severus. I despised him, too. For my life I tried not to show it, but I suspect he knew. I suspect he hated me, too.

By his seventh year, he had reluctantly realized that I was a decent professor. Likewise, I had reluctantly realized he was decent at Transfiguration. But no matter how hard I tried, I could not see what Slughorn and Albus saw in him. I saw a young, greasy, dark young boy who was destined to be something awful, something horrible, something that I wanted nothing to do with.

I was pleased at his O.W.L scores in Transfiguration. What professor wouldn't be? He had gotten nearly everything correct. I told him as much, and he rather sneered at me. I remember being furious, dismissing him abruptly, and muttering rather loudly that he would amount to be nothing. He said he would visit me in the loony bin.

I thought, fleetingly, that he should have been in Gryffindor. I had never seen anyone braver than that. Still, I have seen very few braver things in my lifetime.

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It wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't been Severus, I tried to tell myself. Over and over again I assured myself that if someone I didn't trust so much had killed Albus, I wouldn't be in such a bad state.

Perhaps it was the truth. Albus was my strength. The only man that I ever really respected, the only man I had ever even considered loving. But Severus was my friend as well. My best friend on staff, as odd as it seemed. Always, we were aware that the students thought we were sworn enemies. After all, how could the Slytherin Head of House and the Gryffindor Head of House be friends? But it was true. Somehow, in some slightly twisted way, we understood each other.

Every day we had tea. At first it had been because Dumbledore ordered us to stop bickering so, but then we found we genuinely enjoyed it. We discussed all sorts of things, not just school, which surprised both of us. I distinctly remember the day we began to talk about family. I remember how awe-struck Severus was that I had not had a happy childhood. I recall being surprised that he, in return, had a very happy childhood.

I also recall being even more surprised that he still visited his father's grave.

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Filius was looking at me very oddly, his long, white beard touching the floor, his crooked nose offsetting his glasses in a way that was almost comical. I looked down at him, motioning for him to sit in one of my maroon chairs. He did so looking rather uncomfortable. I nodded to him curtly, setting my glasses on the perch of my nose, looking like the stern teacher that I was, not the replacement for the wonderful, kind Headmaster that I was supposed to be.

He must have seen my resolve shake, for he did not do what I know he came to do. He simply patted my hand and told me he'd come back later.

I watched him waddle out of the room, looking only at his beard. It was so much like Albus's.

It rather irritated me how everything made me think of him. I only wanted to live up to him, only wanted to be half as good at what he did as he was. I only wanted to live up to the expectations of McGonagall, the Headmistress, and I was failing miserably.

I let my head rest on my mahogany desk. I knew what Filius had come here to say. He had come to tell me that I could no longer occupy this room. It was for Peter Hacklesack now, the new Transfiguration professor. I could hardly believe I had to give the job to him. He was the most annoying of Ravenclaw students.

I sat there; head on my desk, wondering how excited Albus had been to give up this room for me. I wondered what I had done not to deserve that excitement.

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I sat in Albus's office. No, not his office, _my _office. I had left the interior the way it was, blue with the blue chairs and mahogany desk. But his pensieves I had gotten rid of. I was not sure where to put them, so I created a room specifically for them, and for my own. The old Headmasters looked down at me, their portraits looming above my head. I looked at the one of Albus often, and he would always smile at me. Often we would converse, though he never really grasped how close we had been after I became a teacher. I asked him what year it had been when the portrait was painted and was disappointed to find I would never be able to tell him what I had always wanted to tell him, as it had been painted in my second year of teaching, the year he became Headmaster, and I highly doubted he had thought about me in any way besides professional then.

I noted how old he looked even then, with his silver beard falling over his elongated face and pronounced cheekbones. For the millionth time, I imagined how handsome he must have been in his youth. I could picture him in school, his long, auburn hair tied up in a ponytail, his long face free of hair, letting his wondrous cheekbones show to their full potential. We had hardly ever talked of his school days, but he had told me he was popular with the ladies. I could imagine them watching him.

I wondered if he had looked dignified back then. Certainly, he had looked dignified for as long as I had known him. But had he always? I could not imagine him not looking strangely regal. Not stuck-up, never stuck-up, but regal. High, untouchable.

And then the pain hit. He was not untouchable. In fact, he had died in one of the most demeaning ways possible at the hands of one of his most trusted friends.

I looked up at the portrait again, and for the first time, I allowed myself to cry in front of the Headmasters of the past. I allowed myself to be weaker than I ever had been before. And then I waited—I waited for his hand on my shoulder, telling me that I would do fine, that he believed in me, that he believed in this school. I waited and waited, my sobs growing more and more hoarse by the moment. And I continued to wait even after I had no more tears left to cry.

But his hand never came.

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I woke up in my quarters, my long, grey hair strewn wildly about. My eyes were wide open, my breaths short and close together, my hand finding its way to my heart to reassure myself that I was still here. The quick thumping of my tired heart allowed me to close my eyes and sink back into my bed, reeling with emotions that I had tried to reign for the past few days.

Needless to say, it was not going well.

I was trying—really trying—to be a good Headmistress. But it just wasn't working. Nothing that I did worked anymore. I just wanted to be a Transfiguration professor again. I just wanted to sit in Severus's office and vent to him about his bloody Slytherin brats and listen to him vent to me about how similar Harry and James were. I wanted everything to be normal again. I wanted my job, I wanted Albus, and, perhaps most of all, I wanted Severus. It drove me crazy how much I missed him.

It had been six months, and I still could not believe that Severus has killed Albus. I refused to believe it. My two closest friends in the world… Both gone. So far gone.

My hand made its way back up to my heart, and I desperately wished I couldn't feel my rapid heart beat. But there it was…

Fighting.

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I sat down at my desk. I was going to write a letter. It wouldn't get to him, and even if it did, it wouldn't solve anything, but I was still going to write the bloody letter. I didn't have anyone to talk to anymore, and I needed to sort things out for fear I'd hurt myself. I picked up my quill and put it to a piece of parchment I'd found stuffed in Albus's—_my_—desk and began to write.

_'Severus,_

_What happened to the good old days? I don't mean the days when Albus was alive, or the days when I used to come into your office just to chat, I mean the good **old **days. The ones where you hated me and you were just about my least favorite Slytherin in history, with the exception of Tom Riddle, because I never could stand that brat. What happened to them? I've tried to sort this out for a while, but I can't seem to figure it out. _

_It was Albus, wasn't it? Damn him and his ability to read people's emotions. Who else would have thought that we were in any way compatible?_

_Not us, that's for bloody sure._

_Severus, why did you do it? Why did you kill him? You couldn't do that to Albus, could you? Not to our Albus, not to one of your dearest friends. Severus, he was the only person in the world who believed in you for years. **Years.** I didn't believe in you. You know that. Your family didn't believe in you, your friends didn't believe in you, your master didn't believe in you, the entire bloody society didn't believe in you._

_How could you turn and murder the only person who has always—always—believed in you? How could it have been as easy as point and shoot? It couldn't have been that easy. _

_It could not have felt good. It could not have felt good to kill him when he was weak, helpless. I just want to know, Severus, just so I can get on with my bloody life._

_Why—no, how—did you do that?_

_I don't know that you would recognize me anymore. I think I've lost 10 pounds. My hair won't stay in it's bloody bun, my robes are always all over the place, my glasses are broken in so many places I don't think I'll be able to fix them, and on top of it all, my face is so gaunt and my eyes are so deep within my head that I look as though I've been dead for about three years. I can't be strict anymore, I can't yell. I don't have any emotions except for confusion, sadness, and pain. So much pain, Severus. So much pain that I can't even identify. _

_Severus. Severus, Severus, Severus. Without you, without Albus, I do not know what to do. I feel like I'm letting everybody down. I feel like I'm letting him down. _

_I'm failing, Severus. Me, failing. I never fail at anything. I never have, and yet here I am, not able to do anything, watching my mistakes over and over, letting things pile up all around me. _

_I'm tired of being brave, Sev. I'm tired of fighting. I wish, for this once, that I were not a Gryffindor. I wish I were cowardly. I wish I could pick up the bloody sword in this bloody office that reminds me far too bloody much of Albus and just…_

_I'm a fighter, Severus. I wish I wasn't. I wish more than anything that I wasn't. I'm tired… I'm so tired._

_Why, why, why did you do it? Why is he gone so soon? Why aren't you here with me, mourning the death of our dearest friend, instead of running away from the authorities because you… you…you killed him, Severus. You killed Albus Dumbledore, the best wizard in the world. _

_You're a coward. You're a coward! I cannot believe I ever thought that you should have been a Gryffindor. You are nothing but a common, bloodthirsty coward! _

_Rot, Severus. Rot. You killed him and you made me weak. Rot, damn it, just bloody ROT!_

_Stop Plaguing Me. Please, Just Stop,_

_Minerva'_

I looked over the letter. He was not the coward. I was.

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This was originally supposed to be an oneshot, but I wrote until page eight and said, 'you know what, I hate reading oneshots that take like a day to read, so this gets to have two parts.' So, I'm not calling this completed. Look out for part two in the next few days. Thanks for reading, remember to review. Cause, you know, I'm a review whore.

-Raven


	2. Chapter 2

Only two days off schedule! Nice!

I'm quite pleased with the way this turned out, so, as always…

Read and review!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. If you seriously thought I did, I'm going to marry you and have your baby. Danke!

* * *

I walked quietly over to the lake, somewhere that I hadn't been since Albus's funeral. The wind brushed against me, wiping my acid tears across my face. A few months ago, I would have wiped them away angrily, but now I didn't have the fight left. Who bloody cared if my face was tear-stained on top of everything else? Everyone—everyone—knew that I was desperately sick, alone, scared. Everyone knew I was failing.

With a calm that I hadn't possessed in a long time, I sat down on the bank, directly in front of the spot where Albus's grave had burst into flames just a few short months ago. I meant to look over the lake to collect my thoughts, but I could not look away from the stone table that no one had bothered to move.

Standing up slowly, my age and tire evident in my creaking bones, I went over to the table and ran my hand over the smooth stone. With some amount of discomfort, I found I could hear Albus in my thoughts. I heard things that I had heard many times before from him thin, smiling lips, but had recently forgot.

_A puzzling creature, is he not? Mr. Snape is one of the only students that I've ever had that I cannot decipher… _

_Everyone is weak, even Gryffindor's—especially Gryffindor's._

_Hope is not an object, my friend. Hope is._

_A fighter, Minerva, is not something as simple as you make it out to be. _

_The present is nothing but a repetition of the past. When looking for answers, always look in the past before looking in the present, Minerva._

I was brought out of my thoughts, trying to hear his voice again. What about the past? Was he trying to tell me something? The past… look in the past before you look in the present…?

Of course, the pensives.

* * *

I walked into the room I had had made for the pensives, my grey hair flowing behind me, forgotten. I ran to the one that looked newest—and most of them were very obviously old, so this was no hard task—and practically thrust myself into Albus's memory.

* * *

I saw he was sitting with Severus in his office, familiar decorations and pensives looming in the background with a magnificent Fawkes grooming himself. Severus was sitting far up in his chair, looking at Albus intently. I moved behind Albus and almost found myself putting a hand on his shoulder before I remembered he could not see me. I let my gaze rest on Albus for a long moment. His blue eyes were sparkling with an amount of sheen that I had not seen for a long time. I missed his eyes, so trusting, so comforting. I felt as though part of me were missing without those eyes to watch me do my work. I was so terribly caught up in my sorrow over Albus's death, that I almost forgot what I was here to do. When I heard Severus's voice, however, I instantly remembered. I turned into the conversation that was taking place. 

"Albus, leave," Severus pleaded, "Please, leave. I can't be responsible for what will happen to you if you don't."

My spine tingled as I heard Severus's voice. It had been a long time since I had heard his low, nasally voice. I had expected to feel disgusted after hearing his voice; I expected to want to wash out my ears. I expected—no, I wanted—to feel like I hated him. But when I heard his voice, pleading with Albus, when I heard his voice reminding me of who he used to be, not who he had turned into, I found myself missing him more than ever before.

_No! No! He killed Albus! He killed the only man you have ever loved! You cannot miss him, not nearly as much as you miss Albus!_

I turned my attention back to Albus, trying to keep my mind off of Severus who was sitting across from him, his fists clenched in his lap. Albus sat with his fingers tapping on his mahogany desk. "Severus, I cannot leave. I cannot abandon my school, my staff, and, most importantly, my students in the face of danger."

"If we lose you, Potter will go to pieces," Severus argued, not raising his voice, but sounding more serious and more concerned than ever before. Albus's expression did not change, but I could feel him tensing slightly. However, he just smiled like he always did; twinkle in his eye as usual.

"All the more reason for me to stay."

"We cannot afford anymore screw ups on the part of that boy!"

"You are digging your cause its grave, Severus. I will not leave, especially not now that young Harry depends on me so. This hinges on the fate of the wizarding world. I will not abandon my cause now," Albus said, his resolve clearer than ever. Was this Severus trying to clear his own name? Trying to make it seem as though he cared for Albus when he was in fact going to kill him?

Why was he giving him one last chance to run away?

"Albus—Albus, my dear friend, listen to me! For once, listen to the wisdom that other people give you! In your mind, it seems a brave, noble, and just thing to knowingly give up your life for this school; but it's not the way things are meant to be! It is not the way things need to be, Albus. I beg of you, my friend, listen. I cannot help what I will do that night, I cannot stop what that spell will make me do. I won't be able to stop—" Severus seemed as though he were trying to get out the words, but the harder he tried, the more he seemed to freeze up. I felt my jaw open and close, not daring to blink, praying with all my life that he would say it.

"Severus, you cannot tell me who you are bound to. I understand that. All I need to know is that you are."

"But that's not true!" Severus exploded, his previous struggle with his own tongue forgotten. The glint in Albus's eye was present, and he looked at Severus in what seemed like amusement, a feeling that was completely over my head at the moment. I could not comprehend how the man could be amused by Severus's actions at the moment.

"Severus, I appreciate you trying to save me from whatever horrible fate I may have, but if it is my fate, it is my fate. There is no good in trying to stop it." Severus slammed his fist onto Albus's desk, losing his temper for the first time.

"No, Albus! No! I will not be responsible for your death! I will never forgive myself if you die at my hand when I could have stopped it!"

My mind was reeling. What was he talking about? Why was he going about with this? Surely he knew that Albus would never tell anyone of a meeting so deeply private and personal. This would, in no way, help his case, if he ever had one. As it was, Harry had watched Severus kill Albus. We had a first hand witness…

Albus put his hand gently over Severus's clenched fist.

"Then take solace in knowing in knowing that you could not have stopped it, for I had made up my mind long ago."

"That's not good enough, Albus. Without you, the Order will surely fall. Who will take care of it after you're gone?" Severus asked, unclenching his fists and grabbing Albus's own hands.

"You or Minerva, surely. Perhaps Remus Lupin or Alastor. There are many people who can take over the Order. It will be fine without me." I felt my stomach drop. Severus could certainly not take over the Order, and I was doing my best to stay above water just being the Headmistress of Hogwarts. Remus had nearly gone mad trying to find Harry; he had disappeared shortly after the battle. And Alastor…

I wouldn't trust Alastor with the Order if I died.

"Albus, don't fool yourself. The Order is barely afloat with you here. Without you, I shudder to think of what will become of us."

"Worry not about the Order. Worry about yourself."

"I cannot worry about myself when I am too worried about you," Severus said, his eyes bright with passion. "Now, please, for the thousandth time, leave, Albus! Please, please, leave! Go away, just for a bit. Just until the attack is done and over with, and then you can come back. I will personally send for someone to take you back. That is, if the Order still trusts me after the battle…"

"Severus, I made my decision long ago. I knew it would come down to this the moment you told me you had taken the Unbreakable Vow—"

I gasped. So… so this was all… this was—Severus had no choice but to kill Albus. Severus was under the Unbreakable Vow; he must have promised the Malfoy's that he would take care of Draco! And if he had let Draco fail at killing Albus after being told by Voldemort to do so, he would surely be killed. So Severus, to protect Draco and under the power of the Unbreakable Vow, killed Albus.

It made such perfect sense, almost complete and total sense… it explained everything! So this was why Severus had been acting oddly all last year, not because he had finally become completely loyal to Voldemort, because he was under the Unbreakable Vow; because he had been struggling with what he knew he would be forced to do—not what he wanted to do at all. So he had come to warn Albus, he had told Albus, and Albus, being the brave and loyal man he was, would not leave the school… I was so deep within my thoughts that I almost did not hear the next words out of Albus's mouth…

"I have always known, my dear Severus, that this school would do just fine without me. If death is what must happen for me to be here for Mr. Potter and company, then death it will be. I am not afraid of death, Severus. There are many more things that are much more deserving of my terror. Such as Fred and George Weasley's new joke shop. I fear, much more than I fear death, the amount of genius pranking items that will come out of that shop. You do realize, don't you, Severus, that Fred and George may just be two of the most talented students that we've seen through Hogwarts? Not in a traditional bright way, I know, but they are currently two of the most successful in their class. Incredibly impressive."

"Be serious, Albus!" Severus said angrily, his eyes flashing. Everyone on staff knew those eyes—those eyes meant that he was about ready to boil over. But either Albus did not notice the look on Severus's face, which was highly unlikely, or he just didn't care. Whichever one it was, it was very brave of him.

"I'm afraid I am being quite serious, Severus. I have served my purpose. If my time is over, then my time is over. As long as there are students who believe in me—and I am certain Harry's trust in me is unwavering—I will never leave them. They just have to remember that. And I do not doubt that the students will remember that, it is the professors that I worry the most for. I fear they may forget that, no matter what, I will be looking over them, just like my portrait."

"No one will be the same without you, Albus," Severus said, looking at Albus with a new amount of disparity in his eyes.

"I know. I trust that you will all be better," Albus said, his eyes twinkling in Severus's direction. Severus put his head in his hands and sighed deeply.

"Then there is nothing I can do to convince you?" he asked, his voice deep with tire.

"No, as I have been trying to tell you for the last few minutes Severus, there is not. I am inclined to say that whatever happens, happens. Being a seer is more of a curse than a blessing."

"Then I suppose I will just have to hope that you do not fall to my wand."

"I suppose you will, my friend," Albus said, looking at Severus like a grandfather would look at his grandchild before he shared some words of wisdom. They were both quiet for a moment, absorbed in their own thoughts.

"Perhaps I should leave, then," Albus said.

"Perhaps. I believe this conversation has served its purpose," Albus said knowingly. I leaned forward and looked at Albus expectantly, and Severus did much the same.

I then felt the familiar feeling of being sucked up and out of a memory. The colors started to fade and the picture began to fuzz. I took one last fleeting glance at both Albus and Severus before I allowed myself to be swept up, back into the land where everything was wrong.

But now, at least one thing would be right.

* * *

_'My Dear Severus,_

_It would have been prudent of you to inform me of the same things you informed Albus. Maybe I would have been able to move on, if you had only told me. But I suppose the important is not that _you _told me, but that I know. And I know now, Severus. I may not be able to forgive you—I did love him, Severus, so much—but at least I can try to understand. At least I know that Albus wasn't completely wrong. At least I know that Albus was trying to be loyal. At least I know that you gave him the chance to leave._

_I still do not know that you would recognize me. My eyes have sunken deep into my face, and the bags beneath my eyes are larger than they have ever been before. But my hair will go into my bun again… I have that, in any case. _

_You would never guess the words that have passed my lips the most since the incident. 'I'm sorry.' Can you believe it? Me, Minerva McGonagall, saying I'm sorry? And yet, it is true. Over and over again, I have apologized for things that are completely, totally, one-hundred percent my fault. And I'll admit it. _

_I do believe I owe you an apology, Severus. I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry that I never told you just how much I needed you, I'm so very sorry that I never apologized for the way I acted when you were going to school. I'm sorry that after all these years, I only really trusted you after you saved Mr. Potter in first year. I'm sorry that I always insisted that Gryffindor was better than Slytherin. And for anything that you can think of that I've forgotten, I am sorry as well. Maybe one day we can sit face-to-face and I can tell you all of these things, maybe someday this letter will reach you, but for now, this will have to be enough. _

_Albus once told me that fighters weren't as simple as I made them out to me. _

_Keep fighting, my friend._

_Minerva'_

* * *

The school was still a mess. I still wasn't as confident as I had been before. I still spent much of my time saying sorry, sorry, sorry. I still sobbed loudly and alone in my office. But now, now I could call it _my _office. Now I could sit in my chair and tell Filius, seriously now, that I was doing better.

My life was still torn in two. The only man that I had ever loved was dead, and one of my dearest friends had still killed him. But now I could take solace in the fact that Severus had killed him under the influence of magic.

Severus's wand still loomed in my mind. Albus's twinkling eyes still sparkled in the back of my brain. My face was still gaunt, my soul still grieving. But beneath it all there was something more…

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump._

And it was there—fighting.


End file.
